


If Wishes Were Horses

by Lina_Muro



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lina_Muro/pseuds/Lina_Muro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Released from his rosey prison, Gaston is furious. One night, he is offered a magic lamp. He can change his fate, the stranger tells him. Certain he can win Belle, he wishes away the Dark One, resetting the events in the Marchlands. He will have Lady Belle as his wife. Even if he has to burn the world down to make it happen.  AU Rumbelle</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stranger in the Pub

To feel his roots dig deeply, and petals part. It was best when the dirt was warm around him, and damp. It was blissful. It was simple.

It was the life of a rose.

These were the feelings that dragged him to the pub and the bottom of a deep tankard.

Sir Gaston, knight of the Frontlands, choked back strong liquor as the feeling to shy away from the alcohol overwhelmed him. This was poison, his body argued. It burned as it slipped down his throat, and boiled in his stomach. In this darkness, he wilted.

He craved the sun and water more often now.

 _‘I am human,’_ his mind chorused, clenching fists and grinding teeth. _‘A man.’_ He had to remind himself more often of that, and fight the urges that sought to overwhelm him.

“Another!” he called to the barkeep. This was a night he would drink himself to oblivion. Again. There was only this to make him forget. Months and months trapped, his only movements the digging of rooted limbs, turning gratefully toward the sunlight, drinking in precious water to make his food.

And voices….

_Here-If you’ll have it._

“What?” Gaston jumped as the bar keep pounded another drink on the table in front of him.

“Gold. Wondering if you have it,” the keep said. “Gotta pay, soldier. I don’t care what horrors you’re drowning, my family’s gotta eat.”

He handed over a few coins, not caring if it was too much. He could still feel the tingle in his limbs as the magic changed him, his vague sense of no longer being truly aware of the world. Breezes and words and temperature came to him, but never vision, or smell.

But he remembered her voice. _I never really cared much for Gaston._ He was right there and how she could say such things! She was his. Belonged to him, damn near. The little tart was meant to be his wife! Then there was pain, and wetness. It felt like a struggle to survive.

He heard other things too. _Kiss me again, it’s working!_ Then yelling. _This means it’s true love!_ So much of that bastard yelling, storming around and breaking things. _Why won’t you believe me?_

He didn’t hear Belle for a long while then. But the next time he did, she was the one yelling. He had been drifting more often now. Paying so little attention to the world. Her voice brought him back from his stupor. He heard _Evil Queen captured me,_ and _I escaped._ Then gentle whispers, murmured apologizes. A day and night passed. Then suddenly he felt himself changing and growing, arms again, and more painfully legs (he was still missing several toes. It was, apparently, the best the Dark One could do.)

Belle looked different. Still beautiful, yes, somehow grander, but somehow terrible. Changed. Perhaps it was the leather pants she wore, the haunted look in her eyes, the straightness of her spine that made her seem taller, or the gold braided into her hair. Her face was taut and angry, and this anger was targeted to the beastly Dark One.

_“An enchanted rose, Rumple? Really?”_

He tried to get her to leave with him, but she wouldn't hear of it. Insisted that she stay, that she belonged with the demon.

That she _loved_ him.

“ Her ‘True love,’” he muttered, draining his mug. “What crap.” If Rumplestiltskin hadn't come into the picture, he’d likely be home at his lodge, pressing her down into a bed and having his way with her. Prepping her for children. She’d be his wife now, a noble lady, and not the Dark One’s whore.

“You've been touched by magic,” a figure at his side suddenly said. Gaston started, but only a little. The voice was gentle, male, and he didn't recognize the accent. Much like the person it belonged to. Short, and carefully veiled, Gaston could make out no part of the person save for eyes that glittered darkly in the candles of the tavern and a cheeky grin.

“What do you want?” the soldier asked, immediately defensive.

“I collect stories.” The figure waved the bartender to fill their glasses with a pale, delicately manicured hand. “I can see that you’re suffering. I’m merely here to offer assistance.”

Gaston narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I can offer you something to change your fate, soldier. We can rewrite this wrong,” the hooded figure continued. “You've lost love, yes? Been bested by a foe?”

“Yes…”

“How would you change that, if you could?”

Gaston gritted his teeth. “What do you think you can do? You’re small, obviously weak. The Dark One cannot be bested by the sword, nor the spell on her broken by it.”

The cloaked man laughed a little. “They say, sometimes, that the pen can be mightier than the sword.” From beneath his cloak he pulled out a rectangular wooden box. The soldier eyed him curiously as he opened it to reveal a simple pen and inkwell.

“You can destroy the Dark One?” He asked, not daring to hope it. “With that?”

“Oh no,” the man replied. “The Dark One is far too powerful for that. You cannot destroy magic with other magic. But I can give you a tool to change your fate. I've been practicing that very thing.”

He began to scribble then, dipping carefully into the glittering black ink and swiping it across the page. He then showed the paper to Gaston.

_~It was then that Gaston, son of the Duke of the Frontlands, found beneath his chair a golden lamp, filled with the magic to make all his wishes come true.~_

Gaston stared at the written words, brow furrowing as he reached under his chair. He sat up again with an oil lamp in his hand. The top was encrusted with jewels, emeralds and glittering diamonds. He could feel it thrumming softly beneath his fingertips, almost as if it were breathing.

“This is..”

“A magic lamp, with a genie inside,” the stranger said, nodding. “He can shape the world around you.”

Gaston was overwhelmed by the thought of it. It seemed suspicious. “What you want in return for this?”

The man smiled his cheeky grin again. “I just like seeing the ups and downs that make a happy ending. This will make a great story one day.” He stood up then, gave a slight bow, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the idiom "If wishes were Horses, then beggars would ride."
> 
> I've had this idea for a while, but the introduction of the Author was really the puzzle piece to make it work.
> 
> Also some helpful advice from another writer. =]


	2. The Settling Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston begins to see the fall out of his wish.

Gaston had drank long into the night, staring at the lamp. The day dawned brightly, and he found himself passed out by a river. He wasn’t alone. From his position curled up on the forest floor, he could see a thin dark skinned man, prodding at a fire. The knight squinted and sat up. The man was dressed strangely. His arms and chest were bare, the rest of him covered in brightly colored, golden hemmed clothing. 

He turned then, and Gaston saw smiling eyes, ageless and dark, and a goatee trimmed neatly around a smiling mouth. 

“Good morning, master,” he man said, standing and bowing low. The knight must have looked confused, because the dark man continued. “I am the Genie of Agrabah. Welcome to your wish.” 

He gestured out to lush fields, and Gaston recognized them as the Marchlands. There were no ogres in sight, and the fields were unspoilt by the traumas of war, wheat and corn just beginning to sprout. 

“What did I wish for?” he asked. 

“You wanted to change the fate of the girl. It was a tricky bit of magics.” The genie seemed proud of himself. “You probably don’t remember, with the drink and all, but I did tell you the rules. I can’t make her love you. That’s on you alone.” 

“And the Dark One?” 

“ You said you didn’t care what I did with the Dark One, and magic cannot destroy magic. But I did manage to suppress him. It won’t last forever, though. The Dark Curse doesn’t like being put down.” 

Gaston struggled to his feet. “The ogres?” 

“There is no invasion,” the genie replied. “The creatures are at rest.” 

The knight tried to focus. His head was a little achey. This much he knew, Belle was with her father in their castle, and he would go and sweep her off her feet. 

“I need a horse.” 

Without pause, the Genie waved his hand, a grand beast appearing before them. It was a large horse, with a honey colored coat and pale mane. “His name is Philippe. He will take you to your prize.” 

Gaston felt a swelling of pride. The mighty steed was worthy of him, grand and intimidating. It stood a head taller than any horse he’d ever seen. “And you, Genie? What will you do?” The knight mounted the horse, rearing him around to face the magician. 

“I am at your beck and call, as any genie would be,” the Genie replied. “I will be in the lamp, awaiting your next two wishes.” He vanished in a puff of smoke, gliding through the air and into the lamp at Gaston’s side. 

Confident in his plans, Gaston turned and began his journey. 

\---------

It didn’t take the knight long to reach the castle gate. Inside he would find Sir Maurice, the rotund, jovial knight, a fair and gentle leader. He dismounted, handing the horse off to a stable boy along with a copper coin. 

He made his way inside, not without a certain amount of swagger. Gaston suddenly felt within his element again. He was the strong, brave knight, no longer the weakened man who had been tainted by magic or lives several months of his life as a rose. He had slain many beasts, and had their stuffed mounts to prove it. Chimera, bear, and stag all bowed before him, as a master of hunt. He was the son of a mighty Duke, the first line of defense to any ogre attack. He was brave, and handsome, and strong. 

Belle was as good as his. 

Maurice welcomed the knight with open arms. Quite literally. The lorde clapped the knight firmly by the shoulders, before leading him down the hallway to the war room. It was a rounded room, set with a table in the center and chairs. 

“I did not expect a visit from the Frontlands,” Maurice said. “But you are most welcome. Your tales follow you here, Gaston.” He gestured for a servant who appeared in the next moment with two goblets and a glass pitcher filled with dark red wine. 

“I am honoured by your welcome, my Lorde,” Gaston replied, taking a goblet from him. “I am actually here about a matter that may interest us both.” 

“Please, sit.” Maurice gestured to the seats, taking his own. “Now, what brings you here?” 

“I come to seek the hand of Lady Belle,” Gaston trumpeted. “It will benefit out two lands greatly to be merged in such a way, and surely you can agree that she and I would make a handsome pair.” 

Maurice’s round fell a little, looking somewhat contemplative. And uncertain. Gaston did not like this turn of events. Before, it had been no issue to get Maurice to agree to the wedding. True there had been a war upon them, and not only could Lady Belle be taken to the safety of her husband’s home, it also guaranteed the aid of the Frontland’s troops. 

“Forgive me a moment to think over your request, Sir Gaston,” Maurice said, after his pause. “I love my daughter dearly, and more than anything want her happiness. I fear that without cause, I will not use my daughter for a political marriage.” 

Gaston felt his temper rising. He was her perfect match! How could Maurice deny this? 

“I want her to marry for love, and goodness knows she’s too stubborn to want anything less,” the lorde laughed, then his face became somber again. “However, I give you my full permission to court her. I would have no qualms with the match so long as she approves it.” There was a wistful look to him now. “I suppose I shall have to give her as a bride soon either way.” 

“Will you summon her that I may speak of my intentions?” Gaston asked. He was not pleased with this turn of events, but he supposed he would have to make due. 

“Oh, she’s not often around the castle, I’m afraid,“ Maurice was suddenly laughing again, and shaking his head. “You’ll find her at the pub, I suppose.”

\-----

Gaston left the castle with his head spinning and his temper rising. This was not what he had expected. Not only had Maurice denied his proposal (flat out denied! As if it weren’t an honor or Gaston to even consider his daughter a worthy paramore), but Belle, quiet, book-wormy Belle, was at a _pub._ And her father didn’t object. 

The pubs Gaston knew were seedy places, filled with dangerous men with even more dangerous ideas. Women in these places were often sought for their companionship, bartered and bought. It was no place for any proper lady, much less a lady of distinction and high birth. Much less for Belle. Angelic, innocent Belle. 

He made his way into the city. It was much different from the one in his memories. But then again, it had been burning, the streets churned into mud from the water they used to heal, and the blood that they could not stop. The houses had been evacuated, the market all but torn down to make room for the wounded and healers. That part he didn’t like to dwell on. Even for a man seasoned in battle, the dying were a terrible sight. 

Now it was a bustling place. Children played among the carts and stalls. The people seemed, if not necessarily happy, at least content. _At least alive,_ he thought to himself. 

The pub itself was nondescript. Were it not for the words “Spinner’s Pub” carved into the building with large letters, Gaston would not have known it from the surrounding buildings. 

Inside was not much different from the outside. A stone floor was beneath his feet, coated in dirt and straw dragged in by boots, and the wooden walls boasted little decoration. Several long tables, benches, and a tall bar with several chairs occupied the rest of the space. It was strangely crowded for a mid afternoon, a loud, badly tuned piano playing cacophonously, and dirty drunkards screaming over each other in increasingly shrill voices. Yet Belle stood out like a sore thumb, shining royalty amongst the peasants in their shabby clothing. She was sitting on a stool, laughing, a tankard sloshing dangerously in her hand as she spoke animatedly to the man behind the bar.

He was as nondescript as the bar itself. Aged, with brown hair that hung long to his shoulders. He watched the glass in his hand that he was cleaning, smiling warmly as he listened to her talking .

Gaston steeled himself. This was it. He had changed fate. He had saved her from the monster and would make her his forever. He would take her to bed, and she would bear his children. He was so close to righting the wrong the world had crafted. 

Now all he had to do was go propose to the girl. 

The knight strutted over to her, drawing himself up to his full height (gods, she was tiny. He’d nearly forgotten). As he approached he coughed loudly, and both Belle and the bartender (who were leaning in closer to each other, talking conspiratorially) paused in their conversation and turned to him. The bartender was smirking now, but Gaston ignored him entirely. 

“Lady Belle,” Gaston declared, loudly. He swept into a low bow. “I am Sir Gaston, knight of the Frontlands and son of the Duke. I trust my reputation precedes me.” 

She blinked at him for a moment, exchanged an amused glance with the bartender before nodding. “Of course, Sir Gaston,” she responded, inclining her head elegantly. Her tone was what he could only describe as appraising as she eyed him. She was clearly impressed. “What brings you to the Marchlands?” 

“I’ve come to take you as my bride.” 

Belle’s eyes widened a fraction, her brow rising. “I-I beg your pardon?” 

A grin spread over Gaston’s face. She was _clearly_ flattered by the idea. He stepped a little closer, winking at her. “If you’ll accompany me back to your father’s castle we can discuss wedding details and we could be wed before the fortnight ended. You’d never have to step into a dirty hovel like this ever again.” 

Had Gaston been a little more perceptive, he might have noticed the frown tugging on the edges of her mouth. Her leg began to twitch in agitation as she waited for him to stop speaking. 

“No,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Gaston had been so caught up in gloating that he almost didn’t hear her. “What?” 

“I said no,” she reiterated. She pushed back her chair and got to her feet, anger flashing in her eyes. She poked his firm chest with one of her fingers. “I will not marry a man I just met,” Belle declared. “And certainly not one who sees fit to make his proposition sound more like a demand then a question. Good day to you.” 

And she stormed out. 

Gaston was flabbergasted. Stunned and in disbelief. She had denied him! how could she? He loved her, for the gods sake! 

There was a chuckle behind him and the clinking sound of a goblet being put on the wooden bar. Gaston turned around, still in shock to notice the bartender smirking at him. 

“On the house,” the man said, his words thick with an accent. Gaston took the tankard as the he started to polish another glass. 

“Yeah, that Belle, she’s a funny one,” the barman continued. He said it fondly, with that warm smile on his face, watching wistfully out the door where she had disappeared. “Unless you’re wounded, a book, or a pint she hasn’t got much time for nonsense. And the gods know you’ll never tell that woman her own fate. Better luck with the next one, dearie.” 

Something tripped in Gaston’s brain at that moment. He stared at the barman, trying to find familiar features in the very human man. But there it was. The slightly hooked nose, crooked, mocking smile…

“Rumplestiltskin?!” 

The barman looked taken aback for a moment. “Aye,” he said, eyebrows furrowing. “Have we met?” 

“No,” Gaston snapped. He was furious. What did he have to do to get that….beast! away from Belle? “And you mark my words, Belle will be mine.” 

And he took his leave. 

Once outside, he ducked behind the building, reaching for his pocket and pulling the lamp out, rubbing it fiercely. 

“Why is Rumplestiltskin here?” he bellowed at the Genie when the magical man had condensed from his puff of smoke. 

Unphased, the Genie merely tilted his head. “You told me you didn’t care what happened to him,” the dark man replied. “By suppressing his powers I’ve returned him to what he once was: an ordinary man. Is that not enough for you?” 

“He’s interfering!” 

“By existing?” 

“YES.” Gaston could have pulled his hair out in frustration. 

Belle would never agree to marry him now. Nothing he could do would sufficiently impress her after he’d made such an ass of himself. He had been so certain of his reception. Yet Rumplestiltskin was already there to destroy everything. 

“Well I can’t help that. If the two are bound by fate, nothing I can do will separate them,” the Genie continued. “However, bound does not necessarily mean lovers. You can still act.” 

The Genie was right, Gaston realized. There was still a way to pull this off. Perhaps even doom the Dark One in the process. He took a deep breath, brandishing the lamp. He didn’t stop to think more on it. Barely thought of it at all. 

“I must ensure a political marriage for myself and Belle. Genie, for my second wish,” he declared. “Bring back the ogres.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun. So the AU portion of this means I'm going to be completely screwing with the cannon timeline for funsies. 
> 
> I'm trying to play Gaston as a mix between the OUAT one and the original BatB one. Which brought me to the realization that the original one is absolutely terrifying, and kind of a sexual predator. That is a vibe I'm hoping to ignore, because Gaston in OuaT looks more like a kicked puppy the one time we saw him. 
> 
> I had a really great response to the first part, so thank you all so much! 
> 
> Next chapter we'll drop into Belle's perspective.


	3. The Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if Lady Belle doesn't have enough to deal with, here comes Sir Gaston, making her question her feelings for the humble bar keep....

The crunching of dirt beneath her heels was a satisfactory noise, but did little to stifle the indignation Belle was feeling as she stomped away from the pub. Oh she was furious. What an egotistical man, to approach her like that and assume her feelings! And Rumplestiltskin! Oh, the bartender was going to mock her for ages over this one. The smirk on his face when she had left had been enough to tell her that. 

It was a smirk she had come to know well in the last few months. Six months before, a fever was sweeping through the Marchlands. A similar sickness had claimed Belle’s mother several years before and it looked like soon it would claim her as well Bell didn't remember a lot from her sickness. She could recall her father's voice, worriedly saying her name again and again, and hands touching her; her forehead, her arms, cold water baths to still the fever. And then the drifting in and out of a haze. Time began to blur for her, but that was good because the pain of the fever blurred as well. 

It wasn't until a face swam out of the fog that she began to become aware again. It was a lovely face, was her first thought. Unfamiliar, but kind and just a little wicked. Lined with years but with warm brown eyes so captivating, Belle could truly believe in that moment that eyes were windows to the soul. 

"Hey” she barely had a voice. And his mouth quirked, just slightly at the corner as she reached out and touched his face.

“Hey.” 

"I feel so tired", she croaked. 

“You’ll be alright,” he whispered to her, cupping her hand against his face. “Just rest.” 

“You must be my fairy godmother.” She closed her eyes as he chuckled. “Will you stay with me?” 

His sweet voice carried to her even as she started to drift off, his hand carding his fingers hesitantly through her hair. "Of course, sweetheart. Of course..."

She had recovered after that, slowly regaining her strength She still blushed to think of how forward she’d been with the strange man by her sickbed, but she couldn't help how comfortable she had felt with him. 

Although she had expected him to disappear afterwards, he hadn’t. Her father, she was told, had requested the man’s help from another village in the Frontlands. He was a healer and herbalist and he had indeed lived up to his reputatIon as something of a miracle man and saved her life. But instead of asking for a large sum of gold in return, he merely requested the old, closed tavern and some help reopening it. 

Belle couldn’t resist being part of the team, drawn to the stranger in some way she couldn’t explain. There were rumors around the town that he was some sort of wizard, and Belle liked to imagine him using magic when no one was around. She’d never actually asked him though. The whispers alone would have been enough to have her hanging around him trying to find out more, but that he had sat at her sickbed, talking to her about books, comforting her and taking care of her. No one had really done those things for her since her mother had died. 

In her mind she began to compare Rumplestiltskin and the knight that had accosted her at the pub. Thinking about the two side by side only made her more indignant about Gaston. Rumple had never demanded anything of her. The angriest he’d ever gotten was when she’d fallen off the ladder, and he’d caught her, them both landing in a heap on the rough floor. 

And physically the difference was striking. Height and bulk were both clearly on Gaston's side. But Belle had never gone much for those kinds of men. Rumplestiltskin's slim build, standing only a head about her own tiny form, somehow just seemed right. They would line up in all the right ways if he were to sweep her into his arm. 

She flushed, shaking her head. How obvious her girlish crush must be. He must think her so silly. 

As she entered the castle, Belle immediately sought her father. Maurice was in the War Room, although it had hardly been used for such purposes in the last hundred years. it had more recently been used as a reading room for the aging Lord, as he loved to pour over the large maps that defined the boundaries of the kingdoms. Cartography was a hobby of his. 

He smiled as she entered, but kept tracing lines along the map in front of him. “Hello, my girl.” 

“How could you?” she blurted out. 

Maurice looked up at her. “What did I do this time?” 

“Did you give that knight permission to marry me? Without asking me at all?” 

The former knight’s face paled and he snapped up to his full height, looking at her pleadingly. “Belle, of course not! What happened?” 

She recounted the scene with Gaston earlier to her father, who turned from worried to laughing in a moment. 

“It’s not funny, Papa!” Belle insisted while the former knight guffawed. “He really seemed to think that I was just going to walk out of that pub with him and ride off into the sunset!” 

Maurice calmed his laughter and moved to Belle, setting a hand gently on her shoulder. “Oh my girl, my darling girl.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “I only gave him permission to court you. He was a handsome fellow, I didn’t think you’d mind too much.” 

“Oh, he’s handsome alright,” Belle rolled her eyes. “And rude. And conceited. Oh Father, he’s not for me.” 

“Ah, darling, don’t let a bad impression mar your opinion too much,” Maurice said sagely. “Remember what your mother always said. Never judge a book by its cover.”

Belle laughed a little under her breath, shaking her head. That counted not only for his attitude but his looks as well. A good looking man may well hide a monster. 

As she was about to reply (or change topics. She really wasn’t sure. Were there redeeming qualities to Gaston?), a knock echoed from the doors. 

"Come," called Maurice. 

“My lord?” a messenger entered. 

“Speak."

“A message, from King Leopold.” He handed over the scroll, bowed and left. 

“What is it?” Belle asked. “Leopold’s party isn’t due until next week.” 

Maurice let out a sigh. “They’re arriving early. We need to go down and alert the servants. Everything must be finished in two days time.” 

\-------------

Plans for the arrival of King Leopold, his daughter, and her fiance had been in the works for several months. There were rumors surrounding the purpose of the trip. Some claimed the King was responded to threats of rebellion, others said that he was showing off his daughter’s recent betrothal to a commoner, and other still claimed the gentle King was merely enjoying the summer weather. 

Preparations were hastened that evening, with Lady Belle assisting any way she could. Although she had never been taught to bake a loaf, and was worthless at moping, she was skilled at organization, and the workers in the castle admired her keen eye for detail. She saw to it the stables were cleaned, the floors scrubbed, the linens for the guest rooms prepared, the animals prepped for butchering, and the dining attire prepared. 

There was so much bustle, that for a few hours, Belle had actually forgotten there was a tall, overbearing knight there seeking her attentions. When she did remember, it was because his hulking figure would lurk around, down hallways watching her. He always seemed to have a look of confusion on his face, as if trying to come up with something to say to her, that Belle would have been inclined to laugh at if he didn’t look a bit like a lost puppy. 

She sat with her father for a simple dinner that night, joined of course, by Sir Gaston. He spoke mostly with her father, but he watched her constantly from the corner of her eye, as if hoping she was paying more attention to his stories of grand hunts than she actually was. 

It wasn’t that Belle didn’t like stories. No, as it was her greatest dream was to travel. She wanted to see the world, have adventures of her own. She didn’t want to sit at home, the ever-pregnant wife of an absent hero, doomed to hear his tales and clean his boots. Belle tried to take her father’s advice to not judge the knight too harshly based on his ego, but he made it so difficult! 

She excused herself as quickly as she could after the meal. There would be more dinners with Gaston, she was certain. The man was determined; he had even offered to escort her around the grounds if she fancied a walk. She had turned him down, feigning exhaustion, but her mind was turning too much for her to simply sleep. 

Slipping out into the night, she donned a simple cloak, shielding her face with the hood as she made her way down the cobbled road. High bred lady or not, she knew better than to be out this late. Her birth would not rescue her from thugs or molestation. 

But she had to see him. 

She slipped into the tavern mostly unnoticed. Rumplestiltskin was busy, of course, the pub full for the evening. Already men were sloshing drunk in some of the seats, pulling bar maids onto their laps and laughing raucously. Belle didn’t much like the place when it was like this. And then there was the fact that-

“Really, dearie?” a voice quipped, interrupting her thoughts. “I thought we talked about you coming around at night and how dangerous it was.” 

Rumplestiltskin was suddenly beside her, and she grinned guiltily as she took his arm. 

“We did,” she agreed, laughing a little. 

“It’s really not safe, dear,” his tone was serious for a moment as he glanced at his patrons, his face a mask of concern as he watched her. He guided her with a gentle hand on her lower back to her usual bar seat, taking his place on the other side. Back in this position he was suddenly flippant again. “But you had to get away from that charming knight of yours, eh?” 

That brought a scowl to her face. “Don’t mock me, his presence isn’t my fault.” 

That smirk, that damnable smirk, crossed his face. “I’d bet it is,” he retorted, poking her nose briefly. “Tales of the beauty of the Lady of Avonlea are hardly exaggerated.” 

She tilted her head, trying not to smile at him. “You’ve been nipping at your own brew, Rumplestiltskin,” she charged. 

Feigning offense, the bar keep put his hand to his chest, mouth gaping in mock protest. “I would never!” 

“Well, I would,” Belle answered, fluttering her eyelashes at him, and leaning across the bar. “Give the lady a pint?” She was shameless, flirting with him like this. But damned if she wasn’t drawn to him like a moth to a flame. They had leaned in close to each other, sharing the same space. It was strange to feel so intimate in such a crowded place, but somehow those warm eyes just drowned out the whole world. Somehow the presence of Gaston and how little she wanted to do with him had made her feelings for Rumple all the more apparent to her. Gods, how she wanted him to kiss her. 

The moment was shattered as the door of the pub was slammed open. Several guardsmen stood there, glancing about. Belle had flinched away from Rumpelstiltskin as the noise of the tavern died down. They moved stealthily through the crowd until the came to her, giving hasty half bows. In the lead was a boy Belle recognized from her help teaching the town children their letters, only a handful of years younger than her. He looked too young to be in a soldier’s uniform suddenly, shaken and pale. 

“Lady Belle, your presence is requested immediately,” the first one said. He was nervous and agitated, and it was clearly not from the environment of the tavern. 

“Gus,” she asked, pitching her voice low, although it carried through the still, tense air. “What’s happened?” 

“King Leopold’s party has just arrived,” the guard blurted out. “Their carriages were ambushed and they barely made it out alive.” 

“Well what thieves would be stupid enough to attack a royal carriage?” Rumplestiltskin exclaimed. 

“Not thieves,” the boy gasped, visibly shaking now. “Ogres.”

Belle felt a tremor of fear go through her, not helped by Rumplestiltskin compulsively reaching forward and grabbing her arm. His grip held a little too tightly and silence dominated to pub, all eyes locked on the guards. She turned, breaking out of the stupor and laying her hand across Rumplestiltskin's. "I have to go," she said softly, and she slipped away from her. For a moment, he simply looked lost. She felt lost it as well. But she had to be strong and brave. 

"Back to the castle," she ordered, following the guards out. As she left, the pub exploded with whispers and fearful cries. Her last glance was of Rumplestiltskin, still forlorn, watching her raise her hood and walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I wanted a little more of Belle, so we might have more of her perspective next chapter. Thoughts and comments are always appreciated, and you guys have be absolutely lovely.


	4. The Coming Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston continues to move his plans forward, hoping to deal with the Ogres and Belle's reluctance in a single swipe.

The castle was abuzz that evening, Gaston caught up in the rush of people moving in and out. Between the sudden arrival of the royals, and the shock of their state when they appeared, everyone was in a panic. He could barely get anyone to stop and give him a straight answer to what had occurred. 

It was only when Lady Belle hurried in did the storm break, and calm descended. Before, caught up in war, death, and strife, Gaston had assumed that Maurice controlled all the castle, and at the very least had a stewart for the staff and peasants. But no, clearly Belle was the foundation this house stood upon, and without her, many were lost. It made her seem in turns both more appealing, and a little off-putting. Who wanted a woman so bossy? Who could deny the appeal of a woman so strong, with such fire in her eyes? 

And bossy she was. The moment the tiny woman entered, her cloak was flung away to a waiting maid (revealing a crisp green dress that hugged her closely and that she hadn’t been wearing at dinner), she began calling for information, barking out orders, trying to see that the horses were stabled, any injured parties tended, where the King was, where her father was. 

“Have wine and warmed mead brought to the war room,” she called behind her, moving at a brisk pace. “Bread and cheese can be brought later if requested, but have it at least pulled from the larder. Any meats left from dinner as well.” 

She glanced around, assured that everyone was moving when her eyes fell on Gaston. He couldn’t quite read the look there, but it was appraising, and calculating. He tried to not be distracted by the lowered neckline of her gown. “You’d better come to my father’s chamber as well, Sir Gaston.” Her voice was quieter now, less of a command. She did indeed know her place where men were involved, Gaston marveled. He nodded and moved to offer her his arm. 

“What did you hear when they arrived?” she asked him, taking his escort with only a brief hesitation. 

“It was all chaos until recently,” he responded. “The princess’s fiance came tumbling in, covered in blood and screaming about an attack. There was a rush to get aid to them, and the rest of the royal party arrived on horseback not long after. I guess the carriages and foot soldiers were left behind.” 

Belle’s mouth bit into a small frown. “Are…are they sure it was ogres?” 

“We’ll find out,” Gaston said, as they arrived at the large wooden door. He paused before pushing it open and turned them both, his hands resting on her shoulders, gazing deeply into her eyes. “You don’t need to be afraid. I can swear that no harm will come to you.” 

She pulled away from him, her frown deepening, bunching her forehead. “I’m not afraid for myself,” she snapped. “My death would be but one thing. But the price of the Ogre Wars in the past? It wasn’t the royals that paid it. It was the blood of the people, that Dukes decided had nothing better to give than their lives. The shepherds and healers and tavern men...” Her head turned, grief across her face. “Didn’t you read the tales in the history books? They sent children out to be flayed alive by these beasts.”

Gaston was at a loss to reply. No one told tales of the First Ogres Wars in the Frontlands any more. It was a time no one thought about, much less talked about. So much horror was hard to ignore. Compassion for those that had died three hundred years before was beyond his realm. He considered most compassion a woman’s duty anyway, and despite her moment of toughness, this alone proved to him that, at the very least, Belle was at her core a soft woman. 

They entered the war room. Every torch was lit, the maps that had been on the table carelessly pushed to one end. King Leopold was sat in Maurice’s chair, a lovely woman tenderly dabbing at a bloody wound on his balding head. It was only when she looked up that he recognized the face of Princess Snow White. Her dark hair had been pulled tight to her head in braids, and she wore no gown, but breeches and a fur-lined hunting vest. An empty quiver was strapped to her back. 

Gaston hoped it wouldn’t give Belle any ideas. She barely fit propriety as it was.

The pair bowed as they came in, closely followed by a servant with the requested drinks. Belle immediately approached Snow and Leopold, touching the princess on her shoulder in greeting. Snow offered Belle a smile. 

“How many wounded?” Belled asked in a hushed voice, pouring a cup of mead and offering it to the King. She then gave a cup to the shepard fiance sat on the rough stone steps near Snow. Gaston couldn’t remember his name. 

“Three dead,” Snow answered. “A dozen more injured. We didn’t have a chance to see it coming. Your father sent out horses and carts to collect the rest of our men. Our carriage was destoyed and one of the horses killed. If it wasn’t for David…” The princess shook her head. “It’s good to see you, Belle.” 

“You too, Snow.” She looked down to where David sat. “Were either of you injured?” Snow shook her head, but the blonde prince nodded down to his right arm. 

“I think my shoulder is out of place.” 

Maurice interrupted them. “We have a skilled healer in town.” His face was ashen with worry, and Belle was seeing the telltale signs of her father’s stress showing. “I could send for him.” 

“Please,” Snow answered, finishing the bandages around her father’s head. “And we’ll want the best you have when our soldiers are able to arrive. He can help David now and look over my father in the meantime.”

“I’ll fetch him, mi lord.” A messenger bowed and immediately darted from the room to get the healer. 

“He can look at me later,” Leopold grumbled, forcing himself to his feet, the rest of the room standing with him. “Lord Maurice, is everyone here?” 

“They are, your Majesty,” Maruice bowed his head. 

Leopold shook his hand carelessly. “I don’t care for ceremony or proprietary right now.” He turned to David, chastising him almost fondly. “You stay seated, young man until the medicine man comes to look at that shoulder.” Snow helped her fiance return to a seated position as the others gathered around the table. Leopold remained standing, as did Snow White at his side, but he gestured again for the rest of them to sit. 

Gaston noted that both women also came. Leopold seemed to have no objections to Snow White taking a hand and unrolling the maps of the Marchlands and Frontlands, pinning them to the table. 

“This is where we were attacked,” Snow said, marking an area with chalk. It was located at a juncture where three lands controlled by King Leopold met around a river bed, the water in question acting as a border between the Frontlands and Marchlands. “It was a single ogre, possibly a scout.” 

“We didn’t even see it coming,” offered David, his arm now clutched to his chest. “Avonlea was closest when the attack happened.” 

“Our travel was to take us to the Frontlands first, and then the Marchlands on return,” Leopold told the gathered counsel. “We have no idea if he was looking for us, or happened upon us by chance.” He glanced up. “Sir Gaston, of the Frontlands?” 

Gaston brought himself up to his full height. “Yes, my lord.” 

"Would you speak for your province and be held to your word?" 

"I would," Gaston swore. "By my oath." 

“There have been no reports from your father about Ogre activity,” Leopold continued, seemingly satisfied with his first answer. But Gaston could tell it was still a question. "But I'm given to understand that you are the expert Slayer. Your brave deeds reach beyond your borders." 

“We don’t often send scouts directly into the Ogre’s territory,” Gaston answered. “But we monitor the borders at all times. It’s been three years since a band even got close enough for us to hunt them for sport. There’s been no reports of activity. I’ve fought my share of ogres to take the title of Slayer, and I have to say they aren’t thinking creatures. An ambush seems unlikely.” 

“But this one came across the Frontlands,” Snow interrupted. “Found its way into the merging point of three territories, without being seen? At all?” She was skeptical. “Explain that to me.” 

“It’s been three hundred years since the last documented ogre attacks,” Belle offered quietly, and Gaston felt for a brief moment as if she were defending him. “The final one of the last battle left the Duke’s castle on fire and shepard village beyond it destroyed. We don’t even have record of how they turned the tide of that battle and ended the war.” 

“With magic, of course.” 

The assembled parties turned, and Gaston felt his hands clench. Standing in the doorway was Rumplestiltskin. He had baskets in his arms full of bottles and bandages. Gaston could have screamed in frustration. Why didn’t he go away? He seemed to always be barging in where he wasn’t welcome. 

Gaston should have wished him killed, or exiled or something. 

“What do you know of this?” Leopold asked. 

The bartender made his way into the room, moving straight for David after a quick survey its occupants. His eyes rested only briefly on Belle. “Only what spinsters and wisemen pass along,” he answered. “Tales of great magics hidden in the Duke’s palace. Dark magics that banished the ogres at the price of the village beyond. It was said they had a powerful sorcerer under their thrall, and he banished all the ogres away with a bloodied ritual.” 

There was a chill in the air, a cold dread, as he spoke of the blood ritual, and Gaston fought the urge to shiver. “We don’t need stories from old women, we need soldiers and strategy.” 

Rumplestiltskin had settled on his knees next to David and had begun to carefully poke and prod at his shoulder. He didn’t look up as he said, “Surely you don’t believe the Dark One was only a story?” 

Gaston felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “What?” 

“Rumplestiltskin, enough,” Maurice admonished. “You aren’t here to spread rumors and long-dead fears, you’re here to help our wounded. Hold your tongue.” 

There was a snide tone when the former-imp replied. “Of course, my Lord.” 

Gaston watched him flash a cheeky grin to Belle before focusing on the wounded shoulder in front of him. He pulled something from the basket beside him (“Willow bark,” he murmured. “For pain. Chew it.”) and gave it to David. 

Gaston turned his attention back to the meeting. 

“Magic is dangerous, and there hasn't been a sorcerer that powerful since the Dark One vanished. Perhaps if we got to them soon enough, we could end it,” Leopold said, his fingers trailing across the map. “The Marchlands and Frontlands together.” He looked up to Maurice. “Part of my travels was to access the diplomacy of the neighboring territories. Rumors have reached me that ties between the lands have been tense. This could complete a partnership between you two. I understand trade has been lacking as of late.” 

Lord Maurice nodded. “Our crops have not been abundant. I have to think of my people before I can think of trade policies, my King.” 

“I understand,” Leopold responded kindly. “I know the comfort of your people is dear to your heart, Maurice. But this moment requires more action.” 

“Your Majesty,” Gaston puffed up. “I can lead the Frontland’s finest ogre fighters to push back this tide before it’s even begun. We’ve bested the beasts before, over a dozen at a time, and we would do it again. I will even train fighters from the Marchlands to join us in glory.” 

“Glory is well and good,” Leopold responded. “But many do not abide by such standards. They require more aid than goodwill, and more than a promise. What would you need to accomplish this?” 

“A handful of good, quick warriors. A good steed for every man, because the tales of Avonlea’s horses reaches us all.” Gaston paused, weighing his words. “The salary for the men who fought, or their families if they don’t return.” 

“And for the son of the Duke?” Leopold continued. “What has brought you to the Marchlands in the first place?” 

“I was sent here to find a place to lay my heart to rest after rumors of a great beauty sent it wandering. My father asked that I return with a woman worthy to serve my people. All I would ask is that for my services, Lady Belle agree to be my bride.” 

All eyes turned to Belle in that moment, whose face was a pale mask of shock. Gaston expected her to look at Rumplestiltskin, but her eyes were resolutely downcast. 

“Belle…” Maurice gasped, his daughter’s name falling from his lips like a muted prayer. 

Leopold’s hand came up to silence him as the good King settled into his chair. He leaned across the table looking kindly at the young woman in the green dress. “Lady Belle?” 

“Yes, my lord?” Belle suddenly seemed to snap out of her daze, her back becoming ramrod straight as she looked at the King with as much strength as she could muster. 

“I don’t often encourage political marriages,” he said softly. “And if there were another you cared for, I would not ask this of you at all. But such a legendary Slayer could only benefit your rank and your people's safety.” 

Gaston couldn’t read the look on her face. It was too changing, inconsistent, running as quickly as her thoughts. But he knew she didn’t look happy. 

_She doesn’t look happy now,_ he told himself. She would, one day. He cared for her so much, how could she not come to care for him in return? 

“I-....there’s….” She took a deep breath, as if to sturdy herself, and she closed her eyes. “I will do what I must for the good of my people and my family.” Belle looked up resolutely, her face set. “I will marry Sir Gaston, if that is the price of safety for our lands.” 

Gaston felt his heart soar. It had worked! His plan had worked! Belle was once again engaged to him. He was so lost in congratulating himself that he barely noticed Belle bow and take her leave. Princess Snow exchanged a look with her father, and followed at her heels. 

There was suddenly a loud pop, and a groan of pain from David. All eyes turned to look at the future-prince and the healer. The latter’s eyes were dark, and his voice dripped with false cheer and acid as he loudly declared, “All better!” And began to repack his basket with rough, jerky movements. 

“We’ll have a small celebration in three days time, Maruice,” the King was saying. “Your people must have their spirits buoyed now, because the months to come may be difficult.” 

“Perhaps a dance and feast?” the lesser lord offered. "To celebrate both Your Highness and Lady's Belle union with Sir Gaston?" 

“Whatever you think is best,” Leopold responded, nodding absently. 

The table had begun to return to talk of battle, laying plans and discussing letters that needed to be sent out at once, information that needed to be gathered. Their talks continued to carry on into the night, with Gaston leading much of the discourse on defense strategies and tactics against ogres that he could only wish he had known in the original timeline. He wished he had been The Slayer then. They wouldn’t have needed to call on the Dark One. 

And presently, the wretched beast was kept busy, his hands buried in the blood and wounds of the arriving soldiers and guards. He would be kept for days with the King’s insistence that his men receive the best care. Distracted and away from Belle while their wedding was planned. 

Things were finally going right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Gaston's perspective has become a little too easy, and that worries me. Ha! 
> 
> I really the love the feedback from you guys! It makes me feel so fuzzy. Thank you so much for your kudos and comments. I've tried to reply to them all and thank you, because your support is appreciated.
> 
> Next chapter is the ball, and Rumple perspective.


	5. The Beast

Rumplestitlskin didn’t want to go home. Some days, he didn’t even know what home meant anymore. The small hovel he had taken as a reward certainly didn’t feel like home.  Neither did the tavern, fixed and flourishing as it was. 

 

Nothing felt real for him, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

Well, one thing did.   If anything in this damned realm felt like home, it was blue eyes and that full, bubbling laugh. It was her mouth wrapping around his name, and the camaraderie of long days at the pub.  Without Belle around, Rumplestiltskin felt like he was walking in shadows, and the only thing that could bring life into focus was her. 

 

With his hands buried in a sea of bandages and blood, he couldn’t let himself think of her. There were men suffering, whose lives very much depended on him. If he thought of her, he’d get angry, and he couldn’t afford to feel that anger now. 

 

_ ‘Later’ _ he thought. Later he would find a way to process what had happened in that room. 

 

But still as he covered wounds in salve and bandages, gave them willow to chew and water to drink, his mind churned. He could pretend the knowledge that Belle was getting married wasn’t festering in the back of his mind; that he didn’t hear the giggling gossip of useless maids. 

 

By the end of the second day, he was drooping with the exhaustion from his work. He felt his temper rise as he stalked through the town, worn and tired. He didn’t want to go home. There was no home without Belle. The people he passed by were abuzz with excitement about the feast and dance to take place the following night. 

 

The idiots were  _ celebrating. _  He couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous. Their Lady wasn’t marrying a great ogre slayer. She was marrying a mindless brute with no appreciation for learning, for discussion, for romance or any of the things Belle loved and deserved. 

  
  


Although Rumplestiltskin knew that no amount of bravado could measure him up to a knight like Gaston, in height, in great feats, in any masculine status, in his gut he knew that the pup from the Frontlands was wrong for Belle. She was so much more than the grace and beauty of her figure. Her pretty face held a quick mind, thirsty for any knowledge it could get. Her gentle hands were quick and nimble, learning tasks with ease. Her heart was pure and gentle and strong. 

 

Any other day, Rumplestiltskin would have chastised himself for thinking so freely of Lady Belle. Although they danced so carelessly around each other, he had no delusions of the fine lady being allowed to wed an old barkeep. Much less that she would want to. 

 

Self loathing and anger bubbled up within him. Anger was an ugly thing to Rumplestiltskin. His reactions to it were always far greater than he felt they should be. Soaring tempers that left a wake of destruction behind him. Still, he felt the source of his anger had never been this close before.  He stalked through the marketplace like a great dark shadow, all rage and hatred.  He felt it bubbling inside him, almost like a creature caged and screaming for blood. It was strange, but familiar. Another oddity of his life that he had come to live with. 

 

He paced among the stalls, too irritated to return to his house or tavern.  He should clean up, wash the blood from his clothes (burn them, perhaps, he thought. They were so stained). But instead he walked, trying to exercise out the burning sting of anger. There had to be something he could do. Some grand gesture.  

 

He had to see her. She had been kept out of the healers tents, no doubt being fitted into great gowns, pushed and primped and prodded to sew her into such a horrible fate. Belle would have hated that. She thrived when busy, when helping. 

 

From the corner of his eye, Rumplestiltskin saw a bright flash of blue, so familiar that for a moment his chest ached as he hoped. It was not the bright eyes of the maiden who had stolen his heart, however. Instead what he saw was a bolt of fabric, richly dyed to the purest blue he’d ever laid eyes on. The merchant was beginning to fold up his wares, and impulsively Rumplestiltskin darted forward to stop him. 

 

Moments later, and a few dozen coins lighter, the barkeep hurried away, a new plan forming in his mind. 

 

\--- 

 

Every son and daughter of Avonlea had been invited. It made the ballroom of the castle crowded, and almost uncomfortably warm.  Although the air was thick with sounds of celebration, there still hung a quiet dread. No one could quite forget why Lady Belle was set to marry a man she had so publically denied in the pub only days before, nor the face of the knights when the ogre’s assault on King Leopold had been announced. They spoke of her wedding, compliments on her groom, and adoring looks to the golden silk that draped across her body.  It was a beautiful ensemble piece, and any other night she’s feel honored to be in such a lovely dress. But tonight was her engagement celebration. 

 

Belle wasn’t in the mood to celebrate, but she knew to buoy her people’s spirits she needed to seem excited, or at the very least please with the arrangements. She smiled as best she  could. Snow White tried to stay near, but Belle knew with her friend close, there would be no keeping the despair at bay. So she moved amongst her people, never staying in one place too long. 

 

She wouldn’t think of Rumple. 

 

Gaston had danced twice with her already, his meaty paws engulfing her hands and clutching at her hips. Sweat from the dance turned cold across her skin, a result of the terror as she imagined Gaston handling her in their marriage bed. There was no gentleness to him, and such possessiveness in the way her held her. Panic almost overwhelmed her as she looked for an exit.

 

All the side doors had been swung open, and it was through one of these that Belle escaped into the garden, nodding gratefully when people caught her eye and congratulated her. The cool air against her skin helped calm her down as she moved down one of the paths. A little. She just needed a moment, she told herself, compulsively flattening and tugging at her golden gown. She would do the brave thing and save her people.  Just one little moment, stolen for herself. 

 

“Belle?” 

 

The soft voice made her jump, and she spun around. She imagined she looked so foolish, like a small deer frightened by a hound. The moment Belle recognized Rumplestiltskin, her whole body relaxed.  He did not mock her, as he might have in the past for starting like that, but gazed at her with his warm brown eyes soft under the starlight. She couldn’t quite understand the distant look on his face.

 

“I didn’t know if you would come,” she whispered, unable to bring herself to talk louder. She felt suddenly as if this very moment was being stolen just for them to have. 

 

He too kept his voice low, reaching a hand out to her.“Care to dance?” He stepped toward her, the light from the distant doorway revealing his clothing. A sharply cut, cobalt jacket adorned his slight shoulders, cuffed at the wrists and hanging below his waist. 

 

Belle nodded, marveling at how handsome he seemed as he gently swept her into his arms. She had been right when she had dreamed of how perfectly they would fit together. 

 

They slowly turned in silence, lost in their own world. There was so much to say, and yet nothing sounded right.  Every slow rotation where she could feel his body close to hers was bittersweet. How long had she wanted this only for it now be far from her reach? 

 

They had stopped spinning, and her throat was catching tight with unshed tears. As her shoulders began to shake he pulled her closer to him, resting his head against hers, arms tightly wrapped around her. She clung to him.  

 

“Rumple…” she whispered, brokenly.

 

But he pulled back shaking his head, but his hands lingered, one coming up to caress her cheek. He used his broad thumb to wipe away a tear that had escaped.  “Beautiful maidens and happy endings aren’t for men like me, dearie.” And for an instant before he turned away, his cool composure broke and his distant look was suddenly morphed into a mask of pain. “I just had to see you. One last time. Goodbye, Belle.” 

 

He was out of sight before the tears began to fall, and Belle covered her face with her hands to catch them. She wanted to fight for him. But she had to save her people, and to do that she had to let go of the one man she truly loved. How could life truly be so unfair? 

 

“You’re in love with that man.” 

 

Again, a new voice caught Belle off-guard. This one belong to Snow White, and  Belle didn’t bother to try to cover up her sorrow. She merely nodded as the the princess pulled her into a one-armed hug. 

 

“You silly thing,” Snow gently admonished. “Why didn’t you say anything? We’ll go cancel the wedding right now.” 

 

“N-no.” Belle wiped at her face.  “I have a duty to my people, not my heart.” 

 

“I’m sure Sir Gaston would understa-”

“This isn’t about Gaston,” Belle interrupted vehemently. “And Rumple is...he’s...I can’t, Snow.” 

 

She pulled away from the other woman as a rustle came suddenly from the bushes behind them, followed by a low hiss. They both turned, eyes wide as a silvery mist began to steal over them.

 

“What is  _ that _ ?” Snow began to say. 

  
And the next moment, they both fell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate any patience that you guys have had. I lost my brother last June and haven't really been able to write much. I hope you enjoyed this. One or two more chapters, then the epilogue. What do you suppose has happened to Belle and Snow? Do you think Rumple has given up?


	6. The Price

Turning away from her in that moment was the hardest thing Rumplestiltskin felt he had ever done. His whole heart fought against it, urged him to take her and run away into the night. Take their chance at happiness, living quietly and anonymously. But he knew he couldn’t. He wouldn’t take the choice from Belle, wouldn’t ask her to choose between him and the safety of her people. 

Her tears, the torment in her gaze had spoken volumes to him, and that he could do nothing for her pain, nothing to stop it fueled his rage and despair. He felt it again, that dark, rising creature, gnashing at his soul and mind. He almost heard voices barking at him. Take what is yours, you coward. Disembowel him. Destroy him. You have the power, you fool. 

The rage, both familiar and unfamiliar, was almost cathartic. He reached his tavern before he had even thought to contemplate it (had he really walked here? It had only been moments), and the door opened with barely a touch (hadn’t he locked it?) But walking into that familiar space, all he could see was Belle, sat atop her stool, laughing. Belle with a tankard in her hand, spilling as she laughed. Belle, skirts caught up in one hand as she danced and smiled to the clapping of the crowd and clanging of the piano. 

The barstool crashed into the door with an almost satisfying crunch. It was followed by one mug, then another. The destruction seemed to sate the monster inside of him, urging him on to destroy, to conquer, to end. He flipped tables, and destroyed glass after glass, only pausing when his hand grabbed the tankard he kept aside for Belle. He recognised it for the large chip, and the memory of her, knelt to the ground, golden dress somewhat dirty, holding the broken cup (cup? Mug. His mind corrected itself, the image wrong. She had been in a blue dress. In this bar.) 

“I’m so sorry. It’s chipped.” 

His rampage slowed as he sank slowly to his knees. It was just a cup. His head began to ache. She was gone. 

Why didn’t he ask to marry her when he had the chance? 

The tavern owner was content to sit there, fallen into his sad stupor, intending to stay that way until Belle had been taken away forever. Until there was no longer the temptation to run back to the palace and beg her to reconsider. 

Or he would have been content to mope, had a knock, no, a pounding not started at the door. It was jarring, and insistent. And when he didn’t answer, a voice started calling for him. 

“Rumplestiltskin! Open up!” There was panic hinting at the edges of the voice, and although once upon a time, the sound of such desperation might have been enjoyed by him, now it was only annoying. He wanted to grieve. He wanted to wither. “Rumplestiltskin!” Thump, thump, THUMP. 

They were persistent, he would give them that. Angrily, he dragged himself to his feet, stomping to the door and throwing it open. “What?” he snarled. 

It was the princling, his arm still in a sling. He was panting, his eyes wide. “Thank the gods. We have to go.” 

“I don’t have to go anywhere, dearie,” he snapped. “Now explain.”

“Something’s happened,” the prince responded. “Snow and Lady Belle….we can’t wake them up. We don’t know what’s wrong. We need help.” 

There was only one name that could drag Rumplestiltskin from his grieving, and it took him less than a second to rush out the door. 

\----------------

Gaston had a sick feeling that this was somehow his fault. 

Less than an hour ago, the party had devolved into chaos. No one had been able to find Lady Belle. It was nearing time for the toast, their official announcement, and the people had become frantic in their attempts to find her. It took longer than it should have, and when she was discovered, she was laid out cold in the gardens, collapsed beside Princess Snow. No one could wake them. 

They had been moved to the war room, laid out on the table, still as corpses. There was no mark on them, no wound to indicate what had happened. No breath, no pulse. But their skin was warm to the touch, still flush as though alive. 

Gaston knew immediately they had been touched by some magic. One of the maids was whispering about a sleeping curse as she pointlessly straightened the princess’s gown. David had been in a panic, and after a hushed council with Maurice had rushed off. 

Now they stood at a standstill, no answer for the two seemingly dead princesses. Gaston thought to his final wish, the lamp that lay buried in his chamber. Was the genie powerful enough to overcome this spell? Had the Dark One awoken and cast it on her? He wouldn’t put it past the evil imp to murder Belle if she had chosen someone else. He wondered if he could kill Rumplestiltskin before the beast realized he was coming, and if that would be enough to lift the curse. 

Suddenly, there was a commotion as Prince David sprinted into the room, the older bar keep on his heels. Gaston was already drawing his weapon when David held out one hand to stop him. 

“He’s a medicine man,” David panted. “He must be able to help.” 

“He’s a monster,” Gaston spat. “This is his doing!” 

Maurice looked aghast. “Rumplestiltskin has been in our community for five years, Gaston. He has no more magic than a field tit. Where is your evidence?” 

“Shut up, all of you idiots,” the smaller man hissed. He was winded, but spoke with so much poison that they all paused. “None of this helps them.” 

Rumplestiltskin stalked toward the table, walking around the two women. He touched their pulse points, eyelids, and lips. He leaned closely to listen for breath from their mouths. Standing beside Snow, he lifted one arm, then let it flop uselessly to the table. He turned the wrist over, looking carefully at the skin. A faint pulse of purple energy was glowing against the vein. 

“How long have they been like this?” 

“An hour,” David answered. “Maybe longer.” 

The healer shook his head, confusion on his features. “I recognise this poison. But I can’t remember why.” 

“Poison? Is there a cure?” David called out at the same time Maurice loudly demanded “Who would have done this?” 

A chorus rose in protest at the declaration, but Gaston felt his eyes drawn to Rumplestiltskin, who had fixed him with a penetrating gaze. A gaze that didn’t waver when the imp answered very slowly, “Dola….A fate spirit. A daemon. They search out mortals who have strayed from their paths, made the wrong choices….or had those choices stripped from them. They feed on that despair.” 

The room fell silent. The healer looked as though he were pulling the knowledge from a heavily resisting sludge. “It can be reversed...by True Love’s Kiss.” 

“What?” David asked. 

“True Love’s Kiss. If you love her, truly, unselfishly, completely, you can save her.” 

The prince surged forward towards Snow White, but Rumple held up one hand to pause him. “If you risk this,” he cautioned. “And it doesn’t work, the poison will take you down with it.” 

“I die either way,” David whispered, starting past the other man to gaze forlornly at his bride. Rumplestiltskin met the prince’s gaze for one long moment, then nodded and stepped aside. The prince didn’t hesitate to rush up to the table and bend over Snow White, tenderly pressing his lips to his beloved’s.   
A strange, sweeping surge of light spread out from them, and Snow White gasped loudly as her eyes sprang open. People began to crowd around them, asking questions, offering water and comfort, Leopold’s voice loudly asking after her. 

Gaston kept his distance, standing awkwardly, looking at Belle’s small frame. Gaston wasn’t her True Love. Not yet. He hadn’t had the time to make her love him. If he tried to kiss her, he would die. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts, in panic and despair, that he didn’t notice the imp approach him, grab him by the arm and forcefully steer him to a side room. He was pressed into a chair in the private chamber. 

“What have you done, you stupid boy?” Rumplestiltskin hissed to him. 

It jarred him from his thoughts. “What?”

“You stink of magic,” the imp snarled quietly. “Magics too great for an oaf like you.”

“I…” Gaston waivered. “I have done nothing.” 

“Maybe I can hazard a guess, hmm? You coveted someone who wouldn’t have you, and you sought magic to sway her favor.” 

“Of course not!” 

“No, you couldn’t have. Because magic cannot create love. But it can make opportunity. Did you plan for the ogres? Or the dola? Or were you just lucky?” 

This time Gaston said nothing, and Rumplestiltskin leaned down, snarling into his face. “She’s going to die now. Because of you. You brought the dola on her.” 

“This isn’t what I asked for!” the panicked knight suddenly confessed. “I was trying to save her! She deserved better than that wretched Dark One. Belle deserved to be a lady, not some monster’s whore.” 

The bar keep slapped him soundly across the face. “You won’t talk about her like that.” His voice was low and dangerous. “Where is the Dark One now?” 

“You still don’t remember?” Gaston gasped.

“Remember wha-”Rumplestilrskin caught his meaning suddenly. “You knew my name at the bar because we’d met,” he said, looking like the world was sliding into place. “Because I was the Dark One.” 

Gaston nodded, all but defeated. 

“How?” 

“A genie.”

“How could a jinn…?” the man mused, before shaking his head. “No, it doesn't matter. And so you’ve doomed us all. Ogres approaching with no Dark One to turn them back? We’ll be slaughtered. And Belle...Belle will waste away here, and die from the Dola’s poison.” 

“Can’t you just…” Gaston waved his hand feebly in an imitation of the sorcerer. 

“I have no magic,” the imp replied. “My curse is sealed away somehow. Which is lucky for you, because I’d probably have killed you by now.” 

“What...what do I do?” 

“Pray,” the former Dark One said, turning his back and stalking from the room. “Maybe the gods will hear you. You changed her fate, and damned us all in the process. I hope it was worth it.”


End file.
